The stillness after combat was a weight in the air.
Dirga sat cross-legged, his breath slow and heavy. The aftershock of the fight still humd in his bones, but deeper inside — beneath the sweat, the fatigue, and the pressure — sothing stronger had begun to form.
Sasa hovered midair, watching him with an amused grin.
"Still alive?" he asked lazily.
Dirga opened one eye. "Barely. Let ditate first."
Sasa raised a brow. "You and that ditation. Don’t tell you’re gonna start eating my realm again."
Dirga didn’t reply — just closed his eyes and sank into himself.
Sasa groaned.
"Ah hell... he’s really doing it again."
He folded his arms, muttering under his breath. "This kid’s gonna bankrupt . Who ditates by draining dinsional essence? Freakin’ monster..."
But he didn’t stop him.
Dirga was his patron now.
And the investnt was worth it.
In the dark between breath and thought, Dirga slipped back into the depths of his soul. The black hole at his center pulsed — not as violently as before, but enough to feed gently on the energy of the realm around him.
It was no longer hunger.
It was rhythm.
A natural draw.
A silent, endless pull.
The realm around him dimd just slightly — as if sighing — and then stabilized.
Dirga opened his eyes. His breath was calr now. His skin glowed faintly under the dim starlight of the pocket dinsion.
Sasa floated above him, arms behind his head.
"Hey. You done eating ?" he called out.
Dirga gave a faint smile. "This ti, I didn’t collapse anything."
"Thank the devils. I was half-ready to throw you out before you sucked this place into a second black hole."
Dirga stretched, his limbs cracking with relief. "Don’t worry. Think of it as... reinvestnt. It was your idea to call a gambit, rember?"
Sasa rolled his eyes. "Right, right. Little parasite."
He floated down and checked an ethereal watch made of spinning clock hands and red mist.
"Anyway, in the real world, it’s 6 PM. You were out for about an hour."
Dirga stood up fully. His coat shimred faintly — absorbing traces of the realm’s energy like dust falling from a dream.
"Then we’re on schedule," he said calmly.
Sasa tilted his head.
"Back already? You sure?"
Dirga’s voice was cold, steady.
"There’s still business to finish. Ti to pay Lucian Marruk a visit."
A grin curled across Sasa’s lips.
"Now we’re talking."
With a flick of his finger, the realm twisted. Space folded in like a trick of light and shadows swallowed Dirga whole.
...
Silence. Then light.
Dirga blinked.
He was back.
The apartnt was dim, faint lamplight casting long shadows across the polished floor. The scent of ozone and old incense still lingered from his earlier ditation — now mixed with sothing... warr.
Sweat. Skin. Humanity.
He exhaled.
"I stink."
He stripped off his shirt, feeling dried blood, gri, and the residual burn of realm-bending cling to his skin like phantom pressure. His body was fine, but his soul? Still humming — like a blade too recently unsheathed.
Behind him, Sasa floated above the couch like a bored spirit, legs crossed, eyes glued to an ani on screen.
"You go do your hero thing," he said, waving a hand. "Just make sure you break sothing expensive."
Dirga didn’t respond.
He stepped into the bathroom, the light buzzing faintly overhead.
The mont water hit his body, it was like pouring rain on scorched earth. He closed his eyes, letting it soak into his pores — washing away blood, black hole residue, and the phantom echoes of a realm that didn’t obey ti.
He didn’t know how long he stood there.
Eventually, the heat ran out.
And that was enough.
He dried off, pulled on a plain black hoodie and joggers, then checked his phone.
One ssage.
Lilith.
A single red dot on a map.
Lucian Marruk — Obsidian Vein.
Dirga narrowed his eyes. His thumb hovered over the screen. He flicked it away.
Ti to end this.
He grabbed his keys.
"I’m heading out," he said, his voice low.
"Yeah yeah," Sasa mumbled from behind. "Go vaporize soone. I’ll be here, watching magical girls blow up planets."
...
The elevator ride down felt like a descent into sothing ancient — steel box, mirrors, soft music trying to mask the tension under Dirga’s skin. When the doors opened into the penthouse garage, a few staff looked up.
They bowed, slightly. No one said a word.
They didn’t need to.
Dirga moved like a man carrying storms beneath his skin.
He climbed onto his black motorbike. Sleek. Silent. The engine purred like a predator under his touch.
As he rolled out into the night, the city unfolded before him — neon lights bleeding across wet pavent, sirens howling in the distance like wolves in mourning.
...
And then it changed.
The further he went, the more the city rotted.
Streetlights flickered. Windows were barred. Faces blurred into shadows. The signs began to whisper in red: adult, smoke, blood, luck.
This was the Red District.
Where law didn’t just bend — it knelt.
Where vice ruled like a king.
Won leaned against walls with empty eyes and painted lips. n stumbled with chemicals in their veins. In alleyways, figures whispered to things not quite human.
And then...
There it was.
Obsidian Vein.
A cathedral of darkness. Glass like mirrors. Stone like onyx. Music thundered from within, deep and low — like heartbeat and hunger. The front pulsed with life. VIP lines. Smoke. Laughter that didn’t sound human anymore.
Dirga parked his bike near the edge.
Even before he stepped off, he felt it.
Eyes.
Watching. asuring. Counting bones and breath.
He walked five steps.
They ca from the shadows like dogs loosed from their cages — figures from the dark, wrapping around him with gleaming knives and rusted machetes.
"Well, well," one of them grinned. "Look who showed up. Mr. CEO himself."
Dirga didn’t stop walking.
"You know who I am," he said. Calm. Quiet.
"Then step aside."
The words didn’t echo — they weighed down the air.
A few of the thugs flinched. His presence was like stepping into pressure — a gravitational pull felt in the marrow.
The air didn’t just grow heavy — it bent. Like gravity itself leaned toward him.
But the one at the center laughed.
A bald man with scars running down his neck. Tattoos coiled across his scalp like living snakes. His machete glinted under neon light.
"Boss said don’t kill you," he said with a smirk. "Didn’t say anything about carving a few souvenirs."
The others laughed. Cold steel scraped from leather sheaths. Knuckles cracked. Chains rattled.
Dirga exhaled.
The street behind him shimred with haze and sweat.
The red light of Obsidian Vein reflected off his pupils
Twin event horizons staring down the abyss.
He rolled his neck.
The air grew heavier.
His hoodie fluttered, windless.
"Then let’s begin," he whispered.
And the Vein itself seed to hold its breath.
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